


Muddy Waters

by polyxena_chatoyant



Category: Naruto
Genre: Animal Death, Dubious Morality, Magical Realism, Multi, Witch Sakura, Witchcraft, but i just know i want sakura to be a witch, honestly i don't know where i'm going with this, im really shit at summaries okay, references to japanese folklore and mythology, references to japanese holidays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyxena_chatoyant/pseuds/polyxena_chatoyant
Summary: A path diverges in front of Sakura.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've already done too much research and it's only one chapter.

Students everywhere are shoving papers and kunai into their bags, eager to begin summer vacation - some have simply scooped up what they could carry and left behind everything else in their haste. Sakura carefully places her books into her backpack, already one of the last few people left in the room. The bell had rung only moments ago.

She doesn’t think she’s left anything behind, but she checks her desk one last time. Long, bubblegum pink hair falls over her shoulder as she leans over to look inside. 

Iruka-sensei groans from the front of the room as the door swings shut behind the next student. Sakura glances at him - he looks exhausted, which is understandable. Her classmates had droven him mad today, no one wanted to do a thing on their last day. She looks around the room, realizing how much of a disaray it was left in.

“Would you like some help cleaning up, sensei?” she asks, already scooping some papers up off the neighboring desk.

He looks up at her, the scar that nearly bisects his nose crinkling oddly as he smiled. “Thank you, Sakura, but it’s no problem.”

“Oh, really, I insist,” she says. Her mother would wring her neck if she found Sakura acting so unladylike as to leave a mess.

Iruka-sensei shakes his head at her, but the two make the room back up in less than an hour. They put the papers into three stacks - papers to be returned to students, papers to be recycled, and papers to be put in files. The first pile is significantly smaller than the others, the largest being the recycling one. 

Sakura is just about to leave when she spots the name on a paper sitting atop the return pile. Yamanaka Ino. 

_ What an idiot! _ she crows in her mind.  _ Leaving behind her own things - she’ll never win Sasuke-kun like this! _

An idea hatches in her mind.

“Iruka-sensei, I can go return these papers to everyone, if you’d like,” she says to her teacher in a saccharine voice. “You probably have loads of other things to do…”

Iruka-sensei looks up from where he was looking through the to-be-filed pile. “Would you? I know you must be eager to start your break.”

Sakura shrugs, thinking about how Ino’s face will look when Sakura reveals herself to be the superior kunoichi. “It’s fine, sensei. You have a good break, too!”

With that, she scoops up the stack of papers and shoulders her backpack, rushing out the door. The hall is empty of students and teachers, not surprisingly, and Sakura slows to a walk half-way down the hall. Glancing through the papers, she plans a route in her mind, deliberately leaving Ino’s paper for last. First on the list? Aburame Shino, who she knows to be the weird bug kid who never really talks.

* * *

 

It’s beginning to get dark by the time Sakura is done, and she feels gross and sweaty after running around the village. Her hair is frizzy from the heat, her clothes are rumpled and covered in dirt - thanks, Kiba - and Sakura is no longer confident that she’ll make a good impression as the superior kunoichi.

“Should’ve done it first,” she groans to herself, walking towards Yamanaka Flowers. “I hope she’s not home.”

The flower shop is quickly spotted in the shopping district, bracketed by a grocery store and a seamstress’ shop. The tall, thin building is a familiar sight of green-painted stone and white windows. For a moment, it almost feels like Sakura is eight again. Running up and down the stairs chasing and being chased by Ino, before Sasuke-kun.

Sakura frowns at the memories, pushes the nostalgia down like a particularly irritating bug. A bell rings when she pushes the front door in, the open sign swinging with the movement.

The shop is the same as ever on the inside, all green and moist with vibrant colors everywhere. The first floor is mostly the decorative flowers, civilian-friendly; the second floor, though, is where all the interesting herbs and poisonous plants are, the floor Ino and Sakura used to spend hours exploring, learning about the various plants.

“Sakura-chan?” a woman asks - Ino’s mom. 

Sakura turns to face her. It’s been a few months since she last saw the woman, usually Sakura avoids the flower shop. She’s not changed a bit, though, Sakura notes. Still tall and thin, with curly brown hair cut short around her face, the same nose Ino has and dimples when she smiles. Her eyes betray her non-Yamanaka heritage, with visible pupils, though the blue irises match Ino’s perfectly.

“Yamanaka-san,” she greets politely with a bow. 

Yamanaka-san rolls her eyes. “It’s Shizue-san to you, Sakura-chan; you and Ino are fighting doesn’t change that.”

Sakura blushes, but thinks that a fight over a true love doesn’t usually leave you in good relations with the enemy’s family. “Shizue-san, then. Um, is Ino home?”

Relief floods her when Shizue-san shakes her head. “No, she’s gone out with her father while I watched the shop. Would you like to leave her a message?”

Sakura shakes her head, hair whipping back and forth violently at the movement. “No, no, I’m just dropping off a paper she left at the Academy today. Iruka-sensei let me take-”

The bell above the front door dinged loudly. Both Sakura and Shizue-san turn their heads to look, the latter taking on a wide, customer-friendly smile. 

The woman who walked through the door is old, visibly so with wrinkles dragging her skin down off her bones. She’s short, almost as short as Sakura herself, and her black hair is peppered with white and grey, though it is left long and loose. Sakura doesn’t think she’s ever seen an old lady with long hair, and suddenly, she wonders why. Do old ladies have to cut their hair for them to grow old? 

_ No, that’s silly _ , she admonishes herself.

“Nakamura-san!” Shizue-san greets brightly. “I thought you would be coming in today, but I almost lost hope.”

The old lady smiles at Shizue-san, skin around her eyes crinkling. Sakura can’t tell if the color of her eyes is brown or black. “I almost didn’t, Shizue-chan. But the winds are changing, so I think I’ll have to restock before the storm hits.”

“Storm?” Sakura blurts out. “There’s not supposed to be a storm coming.”

As soon as it’s out of her mouth, Sakura regrets it. The moment Nakamura-san looks on her, her body freezes. It feels like her limbs have suddenly gained thousands of pounds, trying to crush her to the ground, and as Nakamura-san looks her up and down, she knows she’s being judged. From the way the old lady looks away, Sakura also knows that she apparently wasn’t up to par.

Nakamura-san hums. “Weather reports aren’t always right, girl.”

Sakura blushes, furious in her mind even as she tilts her head down in apology. How dare this woman judge her and find her wanting? Sakura has done nothing wrong! 

“Not everyone is as in tune with the weather as you, Nakamura-san,” Shizue-san soothes, placing a hand on Sakura’s shoulder briefly as the two walk past towards the counter. “This is Haruno Sakura, a friend of my daughter’s. Sakura-chan, this is Nakamura Anzu, she’s a gardener.”

Nakamura-san scoffs. “I’m a witch, Shizue-chan, whether or not you believe it. Calling me a gardener…”

Shizue-san shoots Sakura a wink. “A witch, right, sorry. Well, Nakamura-san, your order has been ready for a bit now, let me get it for you…”

Shizue-san disappears behind the counter and into the back room, leaving Sakura alone with the self-proclaimed witch. 

Sakura doesn’t try to hide her staring very well. This is what a witch is supposed to look like? Nakamura-san wears a cotton dress, white and undyed with no sleeves, and her feet clad in brown geta sandals. Around her shoulders she wears a black shawl with tassels, embroidered with flowers. Don’t witches wear pointy black hats, or have fox-like expressions? Sakura wonders at the sanity of someone who would claim to be a tsukimono-suji in Konoha of all places. 

Nakamura-san doesn’t react to her staring. It isn’t long before Shizue-san is back, struggling under the weight of a wooden crate filled to the brim with plants that trail out of the top, bags of soil, and seeds. With a huff of breath, she sets it on the counter.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to carry this, Nakamura-san?” Shizue-san questions as she rings up the price on her calculator. “It’s larger than your usual orders…”

Nakamura-san counts out the gold ryo coins with careful eyes as she replies. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense,” Shizue-san frowns. “Sakura-chan, be a dear and carry this for Nakamura-san?”

Sakura is about to refuse - there is no way in hell that she’s going to do more work today on the first night of her vacation! - but Shizue-san has a look in her eyes that Sakura knows well. It’s a look that promises retribution should Sakura somehow disappoint her. Sakura remembers well the times Ino had come to school, tired and grumpy from all the chores heaped onto her during punishments.

Sakura shivers. “Alright.”

Nakamura-san sighs. “Alright, but no whining. It’s a long walk to my home.”

_ Great, _ she groans silently.  _ At this rate, I’m going to miss dinner completely. _

Instead of voicing this, though, she simply goes to take the crate off the table. And then nearly drops it with a grunt of surprise. What the hell was in this thing?

Nakamura-san stifles a chuckle badly. “Come on, girlie. I’ve got soup on the stove waiting for me.”

“Coming,” Sakura grunts, stumbling after the woman.

“Bye, Nakamura-san, Sakura-chan!” Shizue-san says with a wave as they leave.

The walk  _ is _ long, Sakura realizes. Long enough that shops and houses start to become sparse along the dirt paths of the village and more and more crops of trees appear. When training grounds begin to appear and disappear, though, Sakura starts to wonder if Nakamura-san lives outside the village walls entirely. 

Every step becomes harder, the weight of the box wearing on her exhausted arms and legs. Sakura had already been tired before, now she was positively fatigued. 

To try and distract herself, she asks, “Are you really a witch, Nakamura-san?”

The old lady doesn’t falter in her steps. “Yes. Does that frighten you, girlie?”

Sakura blinks a drop of sweat out of her eyes. “No. You don’t look like a witch to me.”

Nakamura-san laughs. “Sorry, I left my broomstick at home. And no, I don’t like tofu.”

Sakura harumphs, irritated at the lady’s prickly attitude. “Nevermind, you are a witch. A mean, old witch.”

Nakamura-san tsks under her breath. “You don’t know a thing about witchcraft, girlie, so don’t start throwing names. I can throw much worse.”

With that, the trip becomes silent again. Sakura asks herself if it would be incredibly rude of her to drop the crate and leave it for Nakamura-san to carry the rest of the way. Then she changes her mind - somehow, Shizue-san would know of it. 

Thankfully, not even fifteen more minutes have passed when they turn off the dirt road and onto a paved walkway surrounded by gardens. Sakura nearly trips over a copper watering can, to the witch’s amused laughter, before she is led inside. 

When she drops the crate onto the kitchen table, she takes a moment to look around. 

_ Well, _ she thinks.  _ Even if she doesn’t look like a witch, her house looks like a witch’s house. _

And indeed it did. Shelves towered up the walls, filled with leather-bound books, scrolls, jars of liquids and other unmentionable things. The appliances in the kitchen are all rusted and old, and pots and pans litter the sink and counter tops, some filled with strangely-colored liquids that all give off different odors. The only recognizable one is for stew, coming out of a large pot on the stove. When she looks up, she realizes that there is a cluster of dead animals hanging from the ceiling, all in different states of skinning. 

“Here, girl,” Nakamura-san interrupts her nosing. 

The old lady is holding out a covered bowl that smells heavenly. From the ladle in her other hand, Sakura thinks it must be the stew. She takes the bowl from the woman, wondering if it’s even safe to eat. Her stomach growls, deciding for her - she’d eat it even if it was poisoned. 

“Thank you,” she says politely. 

Nakamura-san rolls her eyes. “Unless you want to see some witchcraft,” and here, she waggles her fingers at Sakura, “you best be leaving.”

Sakura tries to hold her frown in, though she knows she’s failed by the amused glint in the old woman’s eyes, and takes her leave. 

She gets home much faster without having to carry a heavy crate or keep pace with an old woman.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know where I'm going with this, but I like writing it!

Chopsticks clinked against plates and bowls over the dinner table, the low murmur of a radio in the background. Her mother, Mebuki, had put on a channel that played only traditional kabuki music*. Sakura fidgeted where she sat at the table, wondering why they couldn’t listen to something more modern. If her father had been allowed to choose, they would be listening to soft rock, which Sakura found more preferable to listening to a shamisen*. 

Unbidden, she wondered if witches liked shamisens or electric guitars better, before twitching.

_ Stupid! _ She berated herself.  _ Stop thinking about that old hag. _

She scooped some rice into her mouth, eyes on the table even as her thoughts continued to drift to Nakamura-san.

It had been three days since she’d met the old woman, ample time for Sakura to completely forget about her. Yet, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she threw herself into her summer homework or chores around the house, Nakamura-san’s piercing gaze rested behind her eyelids every time she blinked. 

“Sakura, dear,” Mebuki’s voice drew her back to reality. Her mother had a frown on her face, green eyes narrowed. “Don’t drift like that at the dinner table. It’s unbecoming.”

Sakura bowed her head. “Yes, mother.”

Kizashi, meanwhile, reached over the table to poke her in the cheek with his chopsticks, to Mebuki’s disappointment. “Ah, don’t be so hard on her, darling. It’s her summer vacation, let her be.”

Even as Mebuki began to argue quietly with him, Sakura grinned at her father, the same expression reflected back at her, with the addition of a dusty-pink mustache. She and her father were more similar than she and her mother, and Sakura always appreciated him trying to lift tension off any situation. 

“Well whatever it is you’re thinking so hard on,” Mebuki sniffed, turning her nose up as she lifted a cup of tea to her lips. “Get it out of your system quickly. A vapid girl gets no suitors, you know.”  
Sakura stuffed more rice into her mouth, nodding. She also appreciated her mother, who had taken her love of Sasuke-kun and rolled with it, constantly reminding Sakura of her goal whenever she seemed to drift away from the path. It was a kind thing, she thought, and one that Mebuki never let her forget.

But her mother was right. She needed to get Nakamura-san out of her system. Tonight, she would go back to the hag’s house and quell her curiosity about the witches and magic. 

_ Magic is simply what the feeble-minded interperate chakra as _ , she reminded herself.

When dinner was finished, she rushed out of the house, tripping over her own feet in her haste. Knowing she was going to see Nakamura-san, despite how irritating the woman was, had nerves rolling her stomach. 

The sun was just beginning to set outside, but the people of Konoha were still out and about. Most were preparing for the Mountain Day* Festival, which was only days away. Sakura weaved in and out of throngs of people, muscles burning. She wanted to get to Nakamura-san’s quickly, so that she could be finished with this entire affair. 

The trip was long, even longer than she remembered for some reason. Three times Sakura got lost and had to backtrack, watching her feet instead of the road ahead to find her; she hadn’t been able to see above the crate in her arms last time, having watched her feet to make sure she didn’t trip. More than once, Sakura was sure that she would never find her way back to Nakamura-san’s, only to recognize a familiar crevice or plant by her feet.

It was well after dark by the time she found the house, clouds covering most of the stars. 

“How irritating,” she grumbled, toeing the start of the rock path to the front door. Without the crate blocking her view, or an urge to return home and eat soup, she realized just how overgrown the gardens were.

Wait. Soup.

Sakura groaned, dropping her head into her hands. She’d come all this way here, forgetting entirely that there was a clean bowl on the kitchen counter at home waiting to be returned to Nakamura-san. Why couldn’t she have grabbed it? She was so dumb!

_ Ino wouldn’t have forgotten it, _ she bemoaned to herself.

There was no going back now, though. Sakura wasn’t sure she could find her way here by herself a second time. A headache was beginning to form behind her eyes from the trouble it had taken.

A crash from inside the house interrupted her thoughts. It sounded like a pile of things falling, and from her last time here, Sakura assumed it was the stacks of books everywhere. With a deep breath, Sakura walked towards the front door, the windows of the house lit golden by candlelight. Who even used candles for their main source of light anymore? Old, delusioned hags, apparently. 

The front door was painted green with peeling paint, revealing the brown wood underneath. She knocked forcefully, wincing as paint chips fell under the force of it. The house went silent, and Sakura waited for a few seconds. Nothing.

With a frown, Sakura knocked again. 

“Who is it?” Nakamura-san’s crotchety voice demanded from the other side of the door, so sudden Sakura flinched.

“It’s me,” she replied, and then blushed, cleared her throat. “Haruno Sakura. From the other day.”

The door wedged open an inch, revealing half of Nakamura-san’s face. She was scowling at Sakura, hair braided over her visible shoulder.

“Come to return my bowl?” she demanded. “About time, girlie.”

Sakura swallowed. “Ah, no, actually. I forgot that.”

“Then why are you here?” Nakamura-san demanded. 

Mouth opening and closing rapidly, Sakura drew a blank. Saying  _ to get you out of my head _ sounded far too weird. But how did she explain her presence without the bowl? Dammit, she really should have grabbed it!

“Stop floundering and answer me.”

“Witchcraft!” Sakura blurted, remembering Nakamura-san’s last words the days before. “You said… You said I could see some witchcraft.”

Nakamura-san was silent, eye boring into Sakura’s. A cold breeze blew past Sakura, and she shivered. The moment seemed to go on for eternity, in fact, it could have gone on for five minutes. Sakura couldn’t tell without a watch. 

Finally, Nakamura-san blinked. 

“Fine,” she said tersely, opening the door wider and stepping back with it. “Get inside. You chose a hell of a day, Haruno.”

Irritation flared at how the old woman had addressed her, before she took a deep breath and stepped inside and passed her. If Nakamura-san - no, Nakamura - wanted to play it rude, Sakura was game. 

Nakamura slammed the door shut behind her, bustling past Sakura and the kitchen, instead going for the living room. Sakura followed quickly, standing in the doorway of the room. Like the hall and the kitchen, it was completely covered in stacks of books, trinkets and what looked like useless bobbles spread everywhere. The walls were painted yellow and faded, there was an old, lived-in, green couch pushed against a wall, and a coffee table in the middle of the room, which Nakamura was clearing off. Clearing off, though, was a nice term; she was, in fact, pushing stacks of books completely off the table.

One book landed near her feet, falling open to a middle page. Sakura leant down to pick it up, before realizing that the language wasn’t something she could even read. Which was supposed to be impossible. The Elemental Nations had started using a standard form of writing by 0005 A.F., enforced by the leaders of the budding Shinobi villages. Any usage of different languages previously had sputtered out completely by the end of the First Shinobi War, which was over one hundred years ago!

_ You wanted closure, _ she reminded herself with a deep breath.  _ It’ll be explained, I’m sure. _

Sakura closed the book and tossed it onto the piles forming on the floor by the table. Nakamura had finished in the time it had taken Sakura to have her little crisis. Now she had placed a stone, misshapen bowl onto the table, followed by crystals and candles in a circle around it.

“Haruno,” Nakamura snapped, jolting Sakura out of her staring. “Go open the windows.”

The windows in question were tall and wide, three of them nearly covering the entire far wall. When Sakura opened them, a gust blew through the room, ruffling feathers and papers from where they’d previously lain undisturbed in piles. Sakura shivered in her dress, wondering if she should have brought a sweater. Konoha nights weren’t usually this cold, but it was getting to September.

_ It should still be summer enough for cicadas, though _ , she thought to herself with a frown. The only noises outside were the wind and the birds settling in for the night, or the occasional owl hoot. 

The sound of a match lighting drew her attention again. Turning around, Sakura watched Nakamura bend over to light every candle around the bowl. It was futile, she thought; the wind would blow the candles out like nothing. Nakamura mumbled under her breath as she finished, as if not realizing the weather conditions outside. Clouds moved, revealing starlight and the full moon, which bathed the room silver against the gold of the candles.

A gust blew through the room again, blowing Sakura’s hair over her shoulders and into her face. Nakamura, though, was unmoved. Not a single strand of hair had moved with the wind, and when Sakura looked at the candles, it was like there wasn’t any moving air around them at all. The flames stood upright, unwavering, and bright. 

_ What _ , she thought disjointedly. 

She closed her eyes and reached for her chakra, remembering the short lesson on sensing. Sakura had aced it, like every chakra exercise done in class, and had been able to sense as far as the classrooms next to them. And yet, when Sakura reached out to the world around her with those senses, she gasped in shock, recoiling. 

It was as if she was the only living thing in the room.

Even a rock had a small amount of chakra, a table from the tree it had been built from, cloth from the wool it had been made from. But as far as Sakura could sense, which wasn’t even outside the gardens, nothing in Nakamura’s house had any sort of lingering chakra system. Not even Nakamura herself. 

It went against everything Sakura had ever been taught, had ever accepted. Bile rose in the back of her throat, her chakra system rebelling against the thought of so little life, but Sakura forced herself to swallow it back down.

_ Magic is not real _ , she reminded herself.  _ Magic is not real. Magic is not real, magic is not- _

Nakamura rubbed a handful of powder in her hands, still mumbling under her breath, before throwing it forcefully into the bowl. With a roar, a bright red and golden fire erupted from nothing and did not burn out. Sakura felt faint.

Nakamura glanced at her, fire glinting off her eyes and lighting up her skin. She smiled, wide and toothy, at Sakura. Like a predator, amused by its prey. Mocking.

Sakura steeled herself. She would not falter here. She was a kunoichi, and kunoichi did not run in the face of adversity. 

Nakamura reached for a bottle set aside, uncorking it and turning it over. No liquid fell out of it, instead pearls fell into the fire one by one. The old woman continued mumbling under her breath, finally recorking the bottle and tossing it over her shoulder. Despite every law of physics or reality in Sakura’s mind, it did not shatter. Nakamura then picked up a feather, long and pale white, and threw it into the fire as well. 

The colors of the flames changed bright green. The candle flames roared.

“Haruno,” Nakamura spoke, voice reverberating through the room. “Come here.”

Sakura wanted nothing more than to do the opposite. Her instinct screamed to run away, and she knew she could do it. She could outrun an old woman, even without enhancing her limbs with chakra like Iruka-sensei used to mention off-handedly.

She forced her feet to listen, though, and walked to Nakamura’s side. The old woman grabbed her hand tightly around the wrist, bringing it to hover over the flame. Too close, Sakura thought, squeezing her eyes shut. Surely any moment now, her skin would burn along the fire, melting muscle and tissue. 

And yet, when Sakura wriggled her fingers hesitantly after a moment, it didn’t burn. She could feel it licking at her skin, but it felt more like silk than a burn. Sakura opened her eyes and saw that her hand was stuck through the flame itself, yet it did not burn.

“What…” she mumbled, still unable to feel any chakra that could support a genjutsu. 

“Don’t feel it with your chakra,” Nakamura commanded, grip tightening painfully. Her face was close to Sakura’s, voice right in her ear. “Listen to it.”

Sakura couldn’t hear anything. “What am I supposed to hear?”

Nakamura sighed. “Shut up already.”

Sakura’s mouth clicked shut with a scowl. She listened carefully, letting her grip on her chakra fall away. It took a long time, long enough she began to wonder if Nakamura was hallucinating. But then she heard it - a sound indescribable but so clearly there Sakura wondered how she hadn’t noticed it the moment it began. A song. She couldn’t identify the instrument, something between a flute and a piano and yet not at all, nor the tune. 

It was coming from the fire. 

“Woah,” she whispered. 

Nakamura hummed, pleased. “Woah, indeed, Haruno.”

After a few moments, Nakamura threw her hand away from the flames. The music didn’t stop, even as the flames began to shrink, one by one the candles going out by themselves. 

Eventually, all that was left was the smoke in the air and a feather at the bottom of the bowl. No pearls were there. The feather itself had changed, taking an opal sheen to it. 

Nakamura reached down and snatched it up, holding it up to the moonlight to examine it. Sakura watched the moonlight bounce off it and glimmer. Whatever Nakamura was looking for, she had found it, because she made a pleased noise and then - handed it to Sakura?

“Eat it,” Nakamura commanded.

Even with the song in her ears, Sakura was sure she had heard the old woman right. But she didn’t understand. Eat the feather? What purpose would that bring?

Nakamura must have seen the hesitation on her face. “Gonna wuss out now, Haruno? What a waste, even if expected.”

Her spine straightened as Sakura glared at the old woman. Screw her! Sakura had not gotten lost so many times today, had her hand stuck in fire, and terrify her own chakra just for this woman to declare her a pansy now. No, Sakura would prove her wrong.

She stuck the entire feather in her mouth, chewing and crunching, determinedly not making a face as the feather stuck to her mouth in all the wrong ways. It took far too long for her to swallow the goddamn thing, but she did it. 

With a last gulp, Sakura smirked triumphantly at Nakamura. The old woman simply raised an eyebrow, which only further irritated the eleven year old. 

Wait.

Where did the floor-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kabuki music is traditional Japanese music in kabuki theater generally performed by an all-male cast. A shamisen is a three-stringed guitar used in many traditional types of Japanese music.  
> Mountain Day is a relatively new holiday, both world-wide and in Japan, and is geared towards the celebration and conservation of nature, specifically mountains. From my research, which isn’t infallible, people celebrate it by going hiking, viewing mountains, or attending festivals.
> 
> If you liked something, let me know! If something is wrong in my research, grammar, etc, please tell me!

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of the tsukimono-suji in this chapter are about the forms witchcraft take in Japanese mythology. Tsukimono-sujis are hereditary witches that employ fox spritis, and can command the fox spirit to possess someone. When Sakura mentions Nakamura not having fox-like expressions, or Nakamura mentioning not liking tofu, they're talking about the kitsune-tsuki, the person possessed by a fox spirit, who are said to take on fox-like expressions or like foods a fox would eat, which is apparently tofu from my research, among other things. Also, if you're wondering, the calendar I'm basing the year off of is 2017, though I'm not going to call it that. So moon phases are of this year, as well as holiday dates in Japan. This chapter takes place August 5th.
> 
> If you like something, let me know about it in the comments! If I'm getting something wrong, please tell me!


End file.
